


Doctor Who - Whouffaldi - Somebody I used to know

by Samstown4077



Series: Whouffaldi [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, also not by name, does he remember?, mentioning the new companion, neutral block, post Hell Bent, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6800434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whouffaldi - One-Shot. Does 12 remember Clara? How does the neutral block work? And now with 12 having a new companion? Just many feelings. Angst. A bit of humour. Working through the loss of Whouffaldi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Who - Whouffaldi - Somebody I used to know

**Author's Note:**

> This idea hit me in the middle of the night. And because I still grief I wrote it down. Whouffaldi! Always!

He stands by the Tardis console, one of the monitors in front of him, staring at the screen. It has been a slow day. Nothing too dangerous. Just a bit of running and a little argumentation with another species that had wanted to corrupt a planet. Or was it the dominance of the galaxy again? Sometimes he couldn’t keep it all together in his head. Maybe it only had been him, being rude again. Disturbing some spiritual ceremony with his curiosity. Insulting some goddess.

Whatever it was, he had forgotten about it. There were more important things. There always was. Nothing was more important as the next important thing. 

 

His right hand rests on the lever. The one for bringing the Tardis out of the Vortex, or into it. Right now it just lays around the cold metal, his eyes piercing down at the monitor, while his teeth chew on the inside of his mouth. 

 

He can't say for how long he already stands there. Doing nothing except of staring. It feels like hours, but it is probably just minutes or even only seconds. He and time, it is a complicated thing. 

 

He keeps chewing because it soothes him somehow, while he feels a pair of eyes on him. For a blink his look shifts and he watches his new companion sitting patiently in one of the jump seats, hands in her lap — waiting. For him to make a decision. For him bringing down the lever. Getting out of the Vortex finally. 

For a moment it annoys him. He can’t even say why. It just does. All those expectations he probably can’t fulfill, or can he? Not that he ever was sure. It’s nothing personal. He likes her, otherwise he wouldn’t have picked her. She is clever, and can run a mile without getting out of breath. That’s important. And something at her made him think he could use some company, and offered. All in time and space. YaddaYadda. Bigger on the inside. YaddaYadda. 

 

Another sigh, and the next thing he realises is her standing aside him. Close, but not too close. They are not touching. He doesn’t like sudden contact, and she knows, because she is clever. From time to time they hold hands — for the running. 

Every time they do, he remembers there was a time he didn’t like to do it. Ages ago. Aeons ago. Or was it just last week? 

One day, when he has a bit of time, he really has to take a look at this one book from the academy. About staying on top of things aside travelling through time and space. Yes, he wants to do that. Next week. Whenever that is.

 

“Who is she?” she asks him, and he stares down at her, all peeved. Sometimes he is still surprised that humans can only speak with their mouths and not with their thoughts. At least not loud. That they even can speak. 

 

Why has he always humans as companions? Ah, he thinks, because he likes them somehow. Silly little puddingbrains, costing him so much effort. Costing him so much more. How many had he have till this day? Not that he had forgotten one of them, but he is unable to put up a number. It would mean to face the fact that not all have made it. Would mean that even he had given each of them just a tiny part of his hearts, that there was not much more left of it. 

The body might regenerates, heals, but not the hearts. 

Another sigh before he turns back to the picture on the screen. A woman. Brown hair. Roundish face and a bit short in his opinion. Eyes big as planets. 

It’s not the first time he looks at the picture and it won’t be the last. He knows. She knows. The Tardis knows. 

 

“Somebody I used to know,” he says before adding a little quieter, “I think.” 

 

The new companion is clever enough not to ask further questions, and he thanks her in silence for it. 

 

He thinks, but can’t tell for sure. Her picture is in the database of the Tardis and he knows he knows her but … something is wrong. At least not right. There is a name too. 

 

Clara. 

 

He knew a Clara. There he is certain. Or was it just a song? 

 

There is this trick, and he plays it every time he glances at the picture. He doesn’t blink. Because as longer as he looks at it, as more he remembers. Clara. Oswald. Teacher. London. Companion. 

“A pulse,” he sometimes mumbles into the thin air of the console room. He can see her and him in another Tardis. Talking. Arguing. Making decisions. And then he blinks, and everything is forgotten again. Not everything. A faint feeling of loss is still there. And that there is something important he has forgotten. 

He thinks about recording his discoveries or writing it down, but one time he did he couldn’t read his own handwriting. Like a child has written nonsense. 

The solution is simple, he doesn’t blink, what is hard because aside he is a Time Lord and has all those abilities he can not not blink. So he trains himself. Till his eyes feel like they would burn, till tears stream down his cheeks. In the end he can make it a minute or two. 

 

It hurts. Not only the not blinking. It’s the cloisters. It’s her in this dinner. Him holding her hand, asking for her pulse. Them running. Them admitting their feelings. Him loving her so much, that he was about to destroy the universe for their being together. He remembers then. Him being the hy-. He blinks. Everything forgotten and he groans, knowing he has to start from the beginning again. A start from what end? It's all too complicated. 

 

Clara. The only thing he never forgets. He can’t and he won’t. When he can make it three minutes once without blinking, he remembers everything. Memories like a flood hitting his hearts and aside he knows he will blink any second, he won’t forget one thing from there on.

 

That love is a promise, and that he will find her again. Probably next week. Whenever that is.

 

“She looks nice,” his companion says, toddling back to the jump seat. Hands in lap. Back being patient. God, when was the last time he had such a patient companion? 

 

He blinks, and nods toward the picture, “Yes, she does,” and then the lever comes down with a bang, the screen goes black and he turns toward his companion. 

 

For a moment he frowns, about himself, because he is sure there was something important. Something he had to do. Somewhere he had to be. Tomorrow. Or next week? 

 

Oh, whatever it was, he is sure he will remember. 

 

Then he ushers his companion out of the door. There is some adventure to take part in. And after that, he thinks about showing her one of the best restaurants at the end of the universe. 

 

Good plan. Best he ever had. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ahw.. those two will kill me one day... 
> 
> In case you liked this little story, leave a message! I would love to read some comments! Thanks for the read!


End file.
